Monday, February 27, 2006

I'm a Trainer, Not a Fucking Plastic Surgeon

Okay, I know you hired me to get you in shape. And I have been making you lunge to Homestead and back and then do enough crunches to make the American Psycho cringe. You have spent entire days of your life on the elliptical and even done some very basic yoga and pilates. And you know what? You gained weight. That’s right. Gained weight. Your body fat is down a whopping 2% (not bad if it’s 13 to 11, but 31 to 29? Not so impressive) even though I told you specifically to alter your diet and not drink at night. And so today came the moment of truth six weeks into your program, and, oh, how disappointing, you are still not an underwear model.

I work with you twice a week. Twice. You think you are going to look like Madonna at the Grammys by sweating for a whopping 120 minutes every 7 days? I have individual workouts longer than that. You know when I told you to eat extremely small dinners and to be in here for at least an hour and a half on the days I’m not working with you? I wasn’t just saying that because I enjoy the sound of my own voice. I mean, I do, but that’s not why I said it. So what are you doing to gain this weight? I’m guessing eating. Or, if not, you were undoubtedly watching endless hours of Olympic coverage, pro basketball or DVR’d reruns of CSI. But I know one thing you were not doing. Exercising. Cuz see, I tought the point of your New Year’s resolution was to exercise more, not to spend two hours a week with me. Though that would be flattering.

So I'm guessing you heard that Madonna and Brittney Spears have hired trainers and then immediately thought you would look like them in six weeks just by plunking down $1300 for a few months? Yes, I can put you through some difficult workouts, and yes I can tell you what you should be eating and yes I can give you workouts to do when I’m not with you. And if you do what I tell you on your own time, you will be pleased with what you get. But I am not a plastic surgeon. Spending time in my company will not magically make your ass six inches smaller and your arms not have recoil when you wave hello. If that were the case, I would get a lot more female attention in bars.

I appreciate how hard you work for the two hours a week we spend together. I enjoy passing you in the halls and you saying “God I can barely walk after last night.” Secretly I pretend you are referring to something else, but I know it’s the 150 step-ups I had you doing. But for the love of God, why is it every time I see you in the break room you are eating a salad saturated with Caesar dressing and some Garlic rolls? Why, even after I harp on you to get your ass in here on the days I’m not working with you, and even go to the trouble of writing down workouts for you, do you instead opt to go home so you are back in time to catch “Lost?” Well, obviously you’re not going to change, so I’m going to have to. If you’d just come in here for an hour and a half three days a week and put in some goddam time on the treadmill, I wouldn’t have to do this. But, unfortunately, this is going to hurt you a lot more than it is going to hurt me.

So, girls, get ready for the pain. You thought the shit I was putting you through the first six weeks was tough? Oh Hell no. That was kids stuff. You don’t like wall-sits? I’m moving all your living room furniture out tonight and you will be forced to watch your precious Sabado Gigante with your back against the wall and your oversized thighs at a 90-degree angle to the floor. You don’t like lunges? From now on, when you are in my gym, you will not be moving anywhere unless there is a 15-pound bar on your back and your knees are touching the ground with every step. Crunches? Oh, I got crunches. I got an ab routine that will have you watching nothing but Chris Tucker movies just so you can avoid the pain of laughing. If I see you eating in the break room I am immediately flipping your table over, buying two Nutra-Grain bars out of the vending machine, and throwing them in your face as I tell you to get the fuck back to work. I hope you enjoyed yourselves ladies. Because I don’t think you’re paying me what you are to enjoy my company. And if you’re going to gaff me off and spend your off time eating French fries and pizza and drinking like a goddam sailor instead of working out, I’m gonna have you burning those calories one way or another. And I only get two hours, so stand the fuck by. Because if you look bad, I look worse. And in this business, looks are everything.

8 Comments:

buying two Nutra-Grain bars out of the vending machine So do you recommend those things? Cuz I eat a box of them a day while sitting in front of the TV. I don't understand why I still can't fit into a bikini. Why can't you just wave a magic wand and make people skinny? They have to actually listen and take your suggestions? Sheesh! Work, work, work.;)

HAHAHA! A BOX of them, Tara??? You know, maybe they're not so bad when it comes to meal replacement...

All this post makes me think of is the fact that my lard ass NEEDS to get itself into a gym and pronto! And I won't give you any lip if I gain weight. I'll be too busy eyeballing my brand, spanking new 6-pack.

So would you suggest that a steady diet of Moe's, Taco Bell Crunch Raps, Chop Chops with extra curry, and light beer might not get me the abs I'm striving for? God Damnit!!...now you understand my fear of being single?!

Damn, I kinda hit the gym freestyle. Some time on this machine, some over here. Walk around a bit. Drink some water. Yeah, my time at the gym really does nothing me besides act as a distraction from a hitting the bars after work. So it's got that going for it.